


Of Rakes and Romance

by wordsmith_squared



Category: Sanditon (TV 2019), Sanditon - Jane Austen
Genre: Angst, Broken Engagement, Competition, Engagement, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Falling In Love, Friendship, Love Confessions, Marriage, Other, Regency Romance, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-18 06:33:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29113836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordsmith_squared/pseuds/wordsmith_squared
Summary: In this Sanditon continuation, our beloved Charlotte and Sidney are the unlikely guests at the Prince Regent’s opulent estate, Waycliff Hall. Neither one of them expects to see the other, and tension arises when a certain handsome gentleman (read: rake) vies for Charlotte's attention. Sidney finds that, despite his present engagement, he cannot school his heart to forget.Has Charlotte closed off her heart to love forever or is she protecting it from further heartbreak? How will Sidney fare under the eagle eye of Eliza Campion? Who is the mysterious lord? And of course, who will save Sanditon?Follow our story to find out.
Relationships: Charlotte Heywood/Sidney Parker, Eliza Campion/Sidney Parker, Lord Babington/Esther Denham, Mary Parker/Tom Parker (Sanditon)
Comments: 196
Kudos: 268





	1. The Huntress

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again, friends!
> 
> It's been a hot minute, but we are SO SO SO excited to share our newest story with you. This time, we delve deep into the world of Sanditon, exploring Charlotte and Sidney’s tumultuous romance amid the prying eyes and wagging tongues of the Beau Monde.
> 
> We hope that you'll join us for the experience. As always, drop a comment. We love your feedback!
> 
> 💗💗💗💗💗

**Chapter One: The Huntress**

The Regent was agitated, his round face ever more crimson, on the verge of an apoplectic fit. People booed him on the streets that morning, throwing eggs, dirt and stones in the direction of his elegant yellow carriage. His wife Caroline had threatened to return to England. To make matters worse, his father, King George, was not well, his health deteriorating ever so precipitously. Even the potent combination of laudanum and brandy were not sufficient to appease the Regent’s nerves. His physicians bled him that afternoon, but he became so frail, they were alarmed into believing he would not live through the night. 

As soon as the morning sun peeked through the heavy royal curtains in the Prince’s lushly decorated bedroom, his valet announced that Lady Worcester was expecting him. Reluctantly, he let the valet dress him, still feeling feeble and unwell. Susan hardly permitted such childish behavior. She always expected great things from him, and now that he was on the verge of becoming king, she would judge him even more harshly in his outbursts of doubt. The thought of making Susan proud gave newborn light to his widely spaced eyes, and the blood returned to his cheeks. He admired his wholesome figure, opulently dressed in a war uniform; he looked so distinguished.

“Ah, Lady Worcester! To what do I owe the honor of your presence?” His otherwise jolly voice resounded in his chest.

“Your Royal Highness!” Susan smiled, as she curtsied in passing. Her gaze followed the servant as he firmly closed the massive doors of the Crimson Drawing Room. She remained silent for a few moments, until his footsteps subsided. 

“He can’t hear us now. Tell me, Susan, what brings you here so early?” The Regent collapsed in a chair, his ominous figure deforming its shape on the way down. His mass draped over the fine furniture, and any illusion of regality all but vanished. A menacing portrait of one of his ancestors hung proudly above his head, accentuating the sharp contrast between the two royals. 

He quickly perked up under Susan’s piercing eyes, swallowing loudly, as he stood up. He knew her well. She was vigilant when it came to their friendship, and she never missed an opportunity to remind him that he made a solemn vow to preserve their secret. Lady Worcester was no Bird of Paradise. If she was here now, alone, something rather momentous must’ve happened. 

“George, the Whigs are ruthless. I am certain they are the reason why Caroline has suddenly decided to return.” The Regent’s Whig enemies were hard at work, spreading rumors, and stirring the public opinion. London was unkind to him, making his last days as Regent exceedingly dreary. “Why don’t you go to Brighton?” 

“No!” His voice quivered. Brighton was his paradise, away from the scrutinizing public eye, but lately, the architectural improvements at his Brighton Pavilion were the object of ridicule. “Every time I perform in my Music Room or host a ball in the Banqueting Room, those frightful words will haunt me.”

She inhaled slowly, graciously suppressing the urge to quash his petulant fit. He was a most good-humored and courteous companion, but when he sulked, he was also capable of intense cruelty. His cherubic, boyish looking face deformed at the thought of the mockery he had to endure in recent days. He had aged uncommonly fast in these past few years of the Regency.

“How about Waycliff Hall? The grounds are beautiful this time of year.” Susan suggested cheerfully. She anticipated his protests even before he managed to utter a word. “You’re not partial to hunting, but your friends are, and what better opportunity to exhibit your stables!”

His features lightened up at the idea, his vanity flattered. The Prince Regent was passionate about horses. He was also known for his excessively extravagant taste. George was not as boastful about his estate in Waycliff Hall as he was about his London quarters and the infamous Brighton Pavilion, but the stables at Waycliff were a masterpiece, with their glass dome and contemporary architecture.

Just a few days later, elegant invitations went out to an exclusive list of guests, the Regent’s closest friends and acquaintances. Shortly thereafter, dignified carriages proceeded to depart Grosvenor Square and its surroundings for the countryside. It was a hush exodus of the Prince’s allies. They were all preparing to support his most recent indulgence and theatrics, but he was to become their king very soon, and it was wise for them to demonstrate unwavering support.

* * *

The winding paths that led to Waycliff Hall were clearly designed to put on display the riches of the estate. The grounds were magnificent. The exquisite architecture of the house, perched perfectly on a hill overseeing the lake, was no coincidence. The sunlight bathed the house most of the day, its colossal structure reflecting in the crisp, clear waters of the lake.

The Regent detested the unearthly silence and whimsical calmness of the place. In the morning, birds chirped melodiously, their songs echoing across the lake. The misty drops of fresh morning air remained suspended in the surroundings of the house until the sun had fully risen. The nearby forest was patiently awaiting the loud crowd, which was to inhabit its grounds with its raucous sport. The fresh aroma of pine and wood floated in the foggy morning dew.

Long before the regal occupants awoke, the staff was bustling around the house and its extensive property. Groundskeepers, servants, and stableboys were all hard at work this morning. The Prince had not been back at Waycliff Hall for years. Fearful anticipation ghosted the halls and gardens of the estate. Breakfast was not served until eleven in the Drawing Room, a rich selection of morning cakes; there was also hot chocolate, and tea, and brandy, of course. 

Her tight spencer jacket outlined the contours of her female form. Her hair was down, wavy and loose, caressing her shoulders. Her boots were a bit too big for her feet, clearly borrowed for the day, but she held the rifle aptly, looking intently at the mark. She contained her breath, squeezing her eye and her finger. While she had no intention of shooting at the prey, she felt the excitement of the chase. 

She exhaled, irritated. She shouldn’t have accepted the invitation. All the pomp of the refined guests, each arriving in a carriage that was larger and more elaborate than the previous one, made her feel uneasy. The Regent’s friends were arriving all morning; large trunks, the shuffling of fashionable dresses, high pitched voices, and a never-ending procession of nobility and prominent gentry.

She scuffed and looked back at her rifle. She was here for the sport. Settling down on the ground again for target practice, she repeated the mantra her dad taught her, her eyes firmly shot. Then, she focused and aimed. Her target appeared blurry at first. A black top hat. She narrowed her eyes. Dark hair, strong jaw line, lush red lips. She gasped. One blink later, he was gone.


	2. The Bargain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one day! Lucky you!

**Chapter 2: The Bargain**

Sidney watched Charlotte diminish until the sky swallowed her up, and in the minutes, hours and days that followed her staggering loss, could not rightly account for the passing of time. 

He did not recognize himself without her, nor did he respect the man he'd become in her absence. His muscles ached with the memory of every harsh word she had borne with grace, but showed no physical evidence of bruising. The face that peered back at him in the looking glass was unaltered, except for an inky hollowness lurking behind his tired eyes, invisible to all except his closest friends. He still breathed, of that he was certain, but where his heart should be, resided nothing but ice. Even if he could drown his sorrows, there were not enough cups in all of England that could make him forget her face. 

He knew, because he'd tried-- and promptly given up on the endeavor when it provided no relief. It was a sad day indeed when the usual vices could not soothe a man's soul.

It was only now, in the aftermath of all that had passed, that Sidney understood the gravity of Georgiana's tearful conviction following her abduction: like her, he could not cauterize his heart, nevermind how much he might wish otherwise in his lowest moments. Like when sorrow gripped him with its soulless monotony. Or when madness threatened to climb out of his chest, tempting him to do something obscene like ride furiously into Willingden. 

He winced, thinking of his ward's clipped tone and cool regard the last time they had spoken. He had visited her in the hope of explaining himself, of finding-- _sympathy?--_ or at the very least understanding, only to be met with her unforgiving disdain.

She'd fixed him with a stormy look that made him quake in the knowledge of the woman she would one day become.

"You hurt Charlotte," she uttered quietly. Not an accusation, exactly. Merely a statement of fact.

"Yes," he replied, for what more could he say? 

"You used her. Made her trust you. And-- she loved you, though goodness knows you did not deserve her regard..." Georgiana paused to wipe an angry tear from the corner of her eye. "When she confided in me, I told her that a man like you could not be trusted. She did not listen, of course, and I have never been so sorry to be proven right!"

He did not interrupt her, and she did not bother to hide her fury. That she hurt for her friend was evident, but even so, Georgiana's judgement cut like a knife. Every protest in his defense died on his tongue, and Sidney paced away from her in Mrs Griffiths' small drawing room, taking several deep breaths in an effort to school his emotions. What use would come of defending himself when Georgiana was not interested in the truth? In those last weeks, his every action was done in the hope that he could be worthy of Charlotte's good opinion, so that when she looked upon him, she would see how he'd changed-- for her. Only for her.

 _Used her?_ He rebelled against the very notion. 

When he turned to face Georgiana again, the swish of his great coat coincided with her sharp intake of breath. Her brow furrowed and her lips parted in astonishment. Too late, Sidney realized that his features were strained, his fists clenched as tightly as his jaw. The air cackled between them, and he shut his eyes against her pity, for he could not bear it. Not from her.

"My God...," she exclaimed disbelievingly, squinting her eyes to examine his face. "You loved her. You...really loved her!" And then she laughed mirthlessly, her eyes growing wide above the slender palm she clapped over her mouth. Sidney shifted his weight from one leg to the next and let silence fall, refusing to dignify her underhanded mockery of him with an answer.

"Is that it, then?," she needled him after a moment, "Will you say nothing?

"What would you have me say, Georgiana?," he retaliated, tamping down the frustration that coursed through his veins at being so immensely misunderstood. "I loved Charlotte. I love her still. It is a fact that refuses to change, though I must marry another. If not for the fire, if Tom---"

"If, if, if," Georgiana sneered. "Your brother dug his own grave. He does not deserve your sacrifice. You and I both know it."

"You would see Mary and the children pay for my brother's mistake when they are innocent in the matter?"

"Charlotte was also innocent, Sidney. Her only fault was loving you, and she paid the price for it."

They glared at each other, both resolute in their opinions on the matter. What Sidney would not admit to his ward was that he'd had the same thought a thousand times over. How different his life would have been if not for Tom's ineptitude. Even now, he might have been married to Charlotte. Free to love her, to build a life with her, to-- _no_. He would drive himself mad if he continued with these thoughts. 

Sidney drew himself up to his full height, narrowly resisting the urge to flee from the room. Georgiana's unhappiness bled into his own until he felt stifled by it. 

"Clearly we are at an impasse," he said finally, edging toward the door. "I will leave you now. I...can speak of this no longer."

"That makes two of us," she retorted indignantly.

"Very well." He hesitated. "I will visit you again next week."

Georgiana snorted. "Why bother?"

Sidney went still. His heart raced. He gripped the doorknob. _Why, indeed?_

"Because Charlotte would have wanted it," came his overly gentle reply as he made a quick exit. He did not look back, and as such, did not witness the shock on his ward's proud face.

To preserve his sanity, Sidney went through the motions of existing in a world where his love for Charlotte Heywood was relegated to secrecy. Such feelings were not safe in the open. Eliza's eyes were sharp, but her claws were sharper, and Sidney refused to fuel her thriving aversion to Charlotte. When they were together he said little, which was just as well, as Eliza had developed a maddening habit of speaking for him whenever possible. She paraded him like a prize she'd won at the card table, a gamble that had paid off. 

Sometimes, Sidney would look at her, this woman whose desertion had defined his youth, and wonder how he had ever mistaken what he felt for her as love. 

What a fool he'd been.

He took pains to conceal the truth of his affections for Charlotte deep within himself, where they were safest from Eliza's spiteful clutches. He considered it a small win the day she stopped tracking his every move with hawk-like precision, for it was also the day she gave up on slighting Charlotte in his presence. Oh, he was certain her tongue lagged viciously when he was out of earshot, but he was thankful the woman valued her life enough not to test the limits of his patience.

As short days grew into long weeks, Eliza threw herself into planning an elaborate London wedding, while he threw himself into the elaborate task of avoiding her. Sidney buried himself in work, preferring to spend most of his time in Sanditon under the pretense of helping Tom get affairs back in order. Work was a welcome distraction from the reality of his upcoming nuptials, and truth be told, he would be remiss in his duties if he let his brother handle the finances considering what had been lost, and what was still at stake where Sanditon was concerned. Debris still needed to be cleared. Workers demanded pay upfront, fearful of laboring without compensation. And Lady Denham was more fearsome than ever in her self-appointed role as great overseer.

Being in town made keeping his word to Georgiana easier, though their brief interactions remained strained at best. Still, he lingered longer than necessary, feeling purposeful in Tom’s small study surrounded by traces of Charlotte's handiwork. He would often stumble across little notations she'd made in the margins of various invoices, and if no one was looking, ran his fingers along the winding pathways of her writing.

_Where does this belong?_

_File with bills._

_In arrears._

Such mundane details, and yet he ached for her fiercely in those moments, a sad smile playing on his lips at the memory of her popping out from under the desk. 

By the fifth week of Charlotte's absence, Sidney could avoid London no longer. He had personal business to settle, and had also run out of evasive tactics for Eliza in her growing impatience to wed. Her thrice-weekly missives did not mince the truth: A bargain had been struck. He would be her husband whether he liked it or not.

It was a fate he had yet to reconcile himself with.

Presently, Sidney gazed upon the dismal scene from the library at Bedford Place. Heavy rain had washed out the street below, coating the ground in a thick layer of slick mud. Carriages did their best to out-maneuver hidden potholes, often splattering unsuspecting pedestrians with mess. Arthur and Diana had braved the weather to attend some newfangled hydrotherapy demonstration, leaving Sidney to the blissful solitude of his own company.

His peace, however, was to be short-lived.

No sooner had Sidney cracked open his worn copy of Heraclitus, when Eliza breezed in unannounced, not a touch of rain on her blush-coloured pelisse. Her perfect countenance irked him, and in his annoyance Sidney snapped the book shut and shoved it down between the plush chair cushions, far away from her prying eyes.

"Well, I see that you are not dead," Eliza ventured, eyeing him shrewdly. "I expected you back at least a week past. We have much to discuss."

Sidney grimaced, placing a reluctant kiss on her proffered hand. "Eliza. To what do I owe the pleasure so early in the day?"

 _Please do not bring up the wedding,_ he thought _, or anything that will bind me to you for good._

Her skirts ruffled daintily as she sat adjacent to him, too close for comfort, and her shoes peeked out, impossibly pristine considering the weather. It was a fact Sidney chose to focus on that rather than the hot prickle of his skin under her assessing blue gaze.

"We have been engaged for more than two months now...," Eliza began. Sidney felt his heart slide into his stomach with a dreadful thud, "...and yet we are not married. The banns have not been read. A date has not been set. I will not have it, Sidney. Why do you insist on spending all your time in Sanditon instead of here with me? People will talk."

She placed a palm of Sidney’s thigh, sounding almost hysterical. He stood quickly and made his way to the window in two long strides. 

"Tom needs me. Now more than ever. You know this."

" _I_ need you. My money is the only thing standing between your brother and certain ruin." He didn't have to see her face to feel her smugness. "We made a deal that you have yet to honour. I have waited ten years for you--"

Sidney’s blood ran cold at Eliza's false declaration, and he whipped around quickly to face her. Whatever fearsome intensity she saw on his face caused her to shrink back, biting her lips nervously.

"You waited ten years for me?," he asked slowly, fighting a sudden urge to laugh. Was she daft? Had they lived through the same decade? "If that is the case, then surely another two months will be no hard feat."

Sidney knew he was stalling for time. He also knew that his brother depended on Eliza's investment to avoid complete financial devastation, but found that he could not be compelled into a rushed marriage, family be damned. He released a harsh breath and returned to his seat, feeling the outline of his book beneath him.

"Is this why you came, Eliza? To force my hand when...you own me?" What he meant, of course, was that he had no way out. 

"As it happens, no," she replied, looking vaguely triumphant as she pulled an envelope out of her beaded purse. "We have been invited to the Regent’s house party at Waycliff. It is whispered that he wishes to avoid his wife's imminent return to England..." Sidney’s lips quirked in amusement at his uncanny ability to relate to the Prince’s domestic woes. "...I have accepted on behalf of us both," Eliza continued, "It would be unwise for us to miss this opportunity to make connections. Even as we speak, the event is underway. We must make an appearance as quickly as possible."

Eliza handed him the invitation with trembling fingers before he had time to resent her overuse of the word, "we." She was clearly excited at the prospect of what being in the Prince’s company would mean for her, and by extension, their social standing. Sidney perused the paper, saying nothing.

"Lady Worcester herself sent an accompanying note," Eliza pressed on, oblivious to his mounting distress. "There is rumored to be a markswoman in attendance with skill enough to rival even Lord Astley. Can you imagine? I should like to see that pompous fool bested by a woman--"

"I do not wish to go," Sidney interjected harshly, his heart racing. _What was Lady Susan playing at?_ "The Regent’s parties are known to be veritable dens of iniquity. Rules are flouted in unthinkable ways. Go, if it pleases you, but I will not."

Eliza's eyes blazed, turning to steel. She snatched the invitation from his weak grip, and stood up to peer down at him condescendingly. "You will come," she whispered menacingly. "And you will be happy about it. We struck a bargain, Sidney Parker, and so help me God, I'm holding you to it."

With that, she swept from the room as quickly as she'd entered it, no doubt thinking him defeated. Little did she know the truth of it.

Sidney would attend the Prince’s house party - not because Eliza commanded it, but because Charlotte, wherever she was, would have expected it of him.

* * *

_(Three days later)_

He should not have come.

The thought replayed itself in his mind with the force of an army charging into battle, unrepentant and wild. He should not have come, for although Waycliff Hall was the least offensive of the Regent’s estates, he had no wish to imbibe, carouse, or play pretend. His lips twitched wickedly, thinking that the house, much like the woman who haunted his every thought, had a mind of its own. Though massive in size, Waycliff appeared to be satisfyingly resistant to lavish opulence, quite determined to remain proudly tranquil regardless of the many coffers emptied in vain attempts to liven it up.

No wonder the Prince hadn't used it in years. Brighton was much more to his taste.

Sidney’s bones ached from the half day's journey north. He supposed he deserved it for his refusal to travel in comfort with Eliza the day before. Her entreaties had fallen on deaf ears. He'd insisted that he preferred to ride, but they both knew the truth: Sidney could not stand being trapped with her in an enclosed space for so long. He wanted nothing more than a hot bath and a warm meal, but instead found himself zigzagging across the tidy grounds in a necessary attempt to escape what little he'd seen of the debauchery within doors.

It had been too long since he had been in such company. Or perhaps, not long enough, for he did not miss it at all.

Upon his arrival, Sidney had been ushered into an expansive drawing room and handed a glass of port by a tired looking manservant. Drink in hand, his wandering eyes took in rich gold trims and ornate furniture, upon which lounged at least a dozen half-drunk gentlemen in varying states of full dress. Clearly, they had not made it to bed following the previous night's revelries. He had little doubt that many of their wives had likely spent the night in rooms decidedly not their own. Thick smoke unfurled in waves about the room, making him gag. He sipped his drink and nodded tightly to a few men he knew in passing, wondering if Babbers and Crowe had arrived as yet. If they had, he might not feel so out of place.

A snippet of drunken conversation drifted across the room into Sidney’s ears. He stilled, feeling guilty for eavesdropping, but the room did not afford much privacy.

"How much money did you lose yesterday, Astley?"

A man, Lord Astley he assumed, grumbled an illegible answer. "It is unnatural for a woman to be so good at a man's sport."

"Ahh, you're just put out because she's better than you," a third man replied. "Not a miss! The huntress is quite a woman. I shall not be betting against her."

"I can think of better uses for her sharp tongue and skillful hands," Astley slurred. "If she were not Susan's favourite, I would have bedded her already."

"If she would have you…" someone sniggered.

"She would not have a choice." 

Whatever came next was drowned out in a chorus of raucous laughter which left Sidney feeling sick, and slightly defensive of a woman he did not even know. 

He needed fresh air. An escape.

His glass almost capsized in his haste to leave the room, though he was sure no one noticed. Animals, the lot of them, parading under the guise of civility. All it took was a little drink, a change of scenery to bring it out. He'd had his fill of that sort of hypocrisy in Antigua. 

Half an hour later, Sidney trampled the tall, defiant grass that edged the estate's forest. He was blessedly alone, and yet could not find solace. His mind was full of another place, another life, anywhere but here at Waycliff where he was at the mercy of Eliza's whims, and the Prince’s fancy. Stepping between a thick blanket of trees, a twig snapped to his left. He went still, sensing danger, and something else he couldn't quite place. Sidney's pulse quickened, his neck prickling with heightened awareness as he turned his head toward the sound.

A wisp of hair. A stretch of fabric, red as blood. Lips he'd kissed. And the unforgiving barrel of a rifle aimed straight at his heart.

Sidney stumbled backward in surprise. His boot hit a rock, sending him flying across the forest floor. He didn't feel the impact. He didn't feel anything as he righted himself with bloody knuckles and turned to face the armed woman. Twenty feet away, she stood masked in shadow with her rifle pulled to her side, hair flying like the wild thing she was. Her dark eyes burned into his, all fury and fear, making Sidney feel alive for the first time in months.

The air hummed between them and time slowed. He could not make out her expression from so far away. Gripped by curiosity, Sidney stepped forward, but she turned and retreated into the dark trees, her quick footsteps echoing long after she'd gone.

Sidney stood rooted to the spot, hardly daring to believe what he'd just seen. A ghost of a dream, a desire made real. He took a few steps forward, wanting to follow her, but did not know the woods well enough to risk such a foolish pursuit.

By the time he returned to Waycliff, night rimmed the horizon with the promise of darkness. Tea had long passed, as had his appetite. He stood in the entryway, pulling absently at the knot in his cravat, oblivious to errant stares from passing guests. He felt out of sorts, certain he'd gone slightly mad out there in the woods. Maybe he'd hit his head when he fell. 

Perhaps he should lie down. Have a drink. Forget.

"Mr Parker," came a demure voice from behind him. Sidney started, and then turned to face Lady Susan, resplendently attired in blue damask. "I was beginning to believe they'd made you up. I fear I must apologize for the poor welcome you received upon your arrival. There was a ball last night. The festivities lasted well past midnight, as you can imagine." She paused meaningfully. "I seem to recall Mrs. Campion having a lovely time."

Sidney bowed slightly, unable to think of Eliza when his mind was full of another. "There is no need for apology. I have been... enjoying the grounds," he said, trying to dispel his feeling of unease. "It is an honour to be included amongst the Regent’s guests."

"Oh, I doubt that," Lady Susan tsked, her eyes glinting mischievously in the soft candlelight. "In fact, I believe that you would rather be sat somewhere quietly reading Heraclitus..."

All attempts at containing his emotions fled. Her words opened a flesh wound he feared would never heal, and when he held Lady Susan's honest gaze, Sidney knew-- he knew he had not imagined Charlotte's face. 

A huntress, indeed.


	3. Chance Encounters

**Chapter 3: Chance Encounters**

Charlotte felt the pulsating rhythm of her blood, as she turned away from him in swift retreat. The sudden change in his countenance, as realization ran through his face, the confusion in his eyes, and the silent vibration in the air between them pushed her in the direction of the deep shade of the forest. She felt safe there. Her feet were trembling underneath the shaking weight of her body, as she dragged the rifle. She was panting loudly until she stopped by the trunk of a dead tree to catch her breath.

She should not have come.

For a few days now, she had deeply regretted her acceptance of Lady Susan’s invitation. She was certain she did not belong in this company. She had nothing in common with the ladies here, preoccupied with useless conversations about Mrs. Triaud’s most recent fashions and Wednesday nights at Almack. When asked to participate in the endless gossip, Charlotte always excused herself, finding solace in Waycliff Hall’s extensive library. The Regent had a comprehensive collection of books. He was a champion of Jane Austen’s fiction, which Charlotte had recently discovered. She had found herself engrossed in Pride and Prejudice just last night.

Charlotte exhaled with relief when she realized Mr. Parker had not followed her. She was not prepared to speak with him just yet, given his unexpected arrival. Her boots were deep in mud, and so was the hem of her skirt. She pulled a few stalks of grass from her hair. What must he think of her - unchaperoned, wild, disheveled - hem, boots and hair filled with dirt!

The sun was gently setting behind the tall crowns of the trees, a vibrant violet shade peeking through the branches. A sense of tranquility descended over the forest, and Charlotte felt relieved. She had no intention of making a fool of herself again. Taking a silent vow to be brave, she proceeded with long strides down the path, away from the murmur of the rustling leaves.

Lady Susan had alerted Charlotte to the impending arrival of Mrs. Champion, alone. Eliza immediately found herself thoroughly engaged in the royal diversions. It was quite fortuitous really, as Charlotte had decided to spend as little time as possible in close proximity to Mr. Parker’s future wife. However, now that Mr. Parker himself had made an appearance, she felt uncertain and vulnerable. She continued her brisk walk towards the house, absorbed in thoughts. It was getting darker. She shouldn’t have stayed out in the forest this late.

A misstep, an awkward twist in her ankle, a sharp pain, and Charlotte collapsed on the ground. She released a soft cry, inwardly cursing her bad luck. The sound of an urgent gallop approaching startled her. She squinted, trying to make out the horseman.

“Are you quite alright, Miss?,” the unknown rider inquired with concern. His voice was deep, but Charlotte could not make out his features in the dim light.

“I might have twisted my ankle.” She attempted to stand, but couldn’t keep her balance. She used the rifle to keep herself uptight, and started limping.

“This will not do, Miss, let me help you!” He jumped off the horse with remarkable agility and speedily cut the distance between them. A shadow of doubt crossed his face once he was next to Charlotte. “Miss Heywood?”

Charlotte stopped in her tracks. She looked him straight in the eyes. He had manly features – piercing eyes, pronounced jaw, full lips, and a strong nose. He was tall and muscular. After close inspection, Charlotte deducted that he must be one of the Prince’s friends.

“Do I know you, sir?” She was collected and proud.

“I don’t believe we have been properly introduced. Lord Astley at your service, Miss Heywood.” She remained doubtful of his intentions, trying to detect even the slightest trace of ridicule. She knew what the Regent’s friends were saying behind her back, whispering when she was near. Charlotte had very little interest in making close acquaintance with any of them, but Lord Astley’s name had captured her attention. Lady Susan had mentioned in passing that he admired Charlotte’s skill with the Beckwith’s and had even forged a nickname for her.

“I am surprised you know my real name, Lord Astley. If I am not mistaken you prefer to call me  _ the huntress _ .” She retorted boldly, while hobbling down the path towards the house.

Lord Astley hesitated, astonished by her frankness. He took the reins of his horse and followed her. He kept a respectable distance. He had never met a woman such as this, mercilessly outspoken, capable, fierce, and entirely unmoved by his charms. She was beautiful too, her dark eyes full of pride.

Charlotte suppressed the urge to lay down. She felt Lord Astley’s presence behind her, his quiet steps following her patiently. She walked slowly, attempting to not aggravate the injury. She deducted that it was not too serious, if she was able to put weight on the leg. The glimmer of the lights of the house, reflecting in the lake, gave her a huge sense of relief. They were close.

“I can manage, Lord Astley, you really don’t need to trouble yourself any longer.” She said dryly.

“It’s no trouble at all, Miss Heywood. I’ve walked this far. Allow me to escort you back to the house to ensure your safe return.”

Charlotte scowled inwardly. He was persistent indeed. She dreaded the looks and the hushed comments, if people were to see them together, alone, in the dark. Thus, she insisted,  “I assure you, Lord Astley, I am well. Thank you for your troubles.” She gazed at him defiantly.

“Erm…” He attempted to protest, but seeing her determination, decided against it. “I will see you at dinner then. George, erm, the Prince welcomes all his guests officially tonight.” There was a hint of hope in his voice, which Charlotte did not notice. She had not forgotten . This evening marked the opening of the weeks-long festivities at Waycliff Hall. The house staff had been fretting over all the preparations for days.

The Regent had a reputation for his parties. They usually lasted all night and ended in utter dissipation. Under Susan’s watchful eye, however, Charlotte hoped there would be more distinction and decorum, especially at tonight’s dinner. She noticed fragments of Lady Susan’s impeccable style in the preparations and knew that her elegant friend was behind much of the planned activities in the weeks to come.

“I have not forgotten.” Charlotte replied, almost as if speaking to herself. He hovered around for a few more moments undecided, but then jumped on his horse and disappeared in the night.

Charlotte returned to the house through the servants’ entry, hoping to avoid the curious looks of the guests. She had very little time to ready herself for dinner. Her boots were spattering the floor with dirt and mud. Abigail, Susan’s lady’s maid, gasped when she saw her.

“Miss Charlotte! Are you hurt?” Abigail was a sweet lady. She had a round figure, gray hair perfectly kept in a bun, and flush cheeks. She was a motherly figure to Lady Susan and now to Charlotte. She loved the lively exuberance of Lady Susan’s new friend and was taken with her adventurous spirit the minute she met Charlotte. “We cannot have you seen in this state, Miss!” She motioned in the general direction of Charlotte’s muddy skirts and boots. “Follow me.”

Abigail shoved the rifle aside and grabbed Charlotte under the arm to lift her up and help her walk faster. She weaved her way through the servants’ quarters and a number of dusty spacious rooms that seemed uninhabited, up dark staircases, until they miraculously found themselves in front of Charlotte’s bedchamber.

Abigail had prepared fresh water for Charlotte and an exquisite silk gown was laid out on the bed for her. It was a stunning light heliotrope color, the bodice small and high, intricately decorated with delicate violet flowers. The waistline was cut higher in the back, the skirts flowing down to another layer of elaborate decorations. Next to the dress, Abigail had placed a matching pair of dance slippers.

“Absolutely beautiful!” Charlotte gasped. “But how…?”

“Lady Susan, of course! She ordered several gowns for you, Miss. She wanted to surprise you.” Abigail’s eyes were glittering with joy. She experienced Charlotte’s emotions as if they were her own. She never had a daughter, not really, even though she took care of Susan from infancy, but Charlotte brought out the best in her. “Now, we need to hurry! Lady Susan will be here any minute.”

With Abigail’s help, Charlotte washed the gunpowder residue from her face, removed all the sticks and dirt from her hair, and generally freshened up. Abigail’s capable hands created a most striking coiffure, dressed with flowers, and when Charlotte peered at her reflection in the mirror, she could not recognize herself.

“It’s ravishing! But...isn’t this a bit much, Abigail?”

“Trust me, Miss, in this company, this is what’s expected.” Abigail smiled knowingly.

A gentle tap on the door announced the arrival of Lady Susan. She walked in with her usual grace and vivacity, looking uncommonly well in the crimson gown she had picked for the night.

“Charlotte, my dear girl, you look radiant in this gown!” She observed Charlotte approvingly, with a gentle nod to Abigail for her contribution to the final look. “A particular gentleman arrived this afternoon, and I need you to steady yourself, my dear, as he will be joining the party for dinner.” As the two ladies fell out of earshot, Susan added “Mr. Sidney Parker has apparently decided to join his betrothed.”

Lady Susan gently patted Charlotte’s hand, clearly wanting to commiserate without making a scene. But then she noticed Charlotte’s totter and slowed down to observe her with interest.

“Are the new shoes uncomfortable, my dear?”

“Oh, no, m’lady. I, erm, had a bit of an accident this afternoon.” Charlotte blushed profusely. She did not want to conceal her coming across Mr. Parker in the forest, but she was determined not to mention the dubious circumstance of her meeting with Lord Astley. “Mr. Parker did stumble upon me when I was practicing with the rifle. In my attempt to evade him I tripped and fell.”

“Good! At least you are past that awkward first encounter.” Lady Susan was clearly amused. She smiled reassuringly. “Now, I need to properly introduce you to some very important people.”

Lady Susan did not know of Charlotte and Sidney’s devastating and tearful goodbye on the clifftops. Charlotte pledged to not share her pain with anyone, not even Alison, her closest confidante. She zealously guarded the emotion within the vastly empty spaces of her heart as a reminder of broken dreams. She felt angry and ashamed that she allowed herself to feel so much, without considering the repercussions.

During the long hours of solitude, she often replayed the stolen moments of complete surrender and wondered what possessed her to believe that Mr. Parker would seriously consider her a match. She was young, naïve and poor; a farmer’s daughter with a sharp tongue. Those thoughts made her feel furious and powerless at the same time, which, in turn, convinced her to guard her heart and watch her tongue.

Thus, when she embarked on this new adventure with Lady Susan, she promised herself to tread carefully, to think before she spoke, and to zealously protect her heart. She came here out of profound respect for her friend, who continued to write to her regularly. She knew very well that she did not possess the experience or pedigree of the Regent’s close acquaintance, but she considered herself more capable, sensible and intuitive than most of them.

* * *

As soon as Lady Susan and Charlotte stepped through the entryway of the Rose Satin Drawing Room, all eyes turned in their direction. The lively chatter hushed at once, as many considered Lady Susan to be the hostess. It was no secret among the Regent’s closest friends that Lady Susan was the Regent’s particular friend, even though they never allowed themselves to be close in public, and both took rigorous measures to preserve appearances. London society depended on Lady Susan’s good graces. In her presence, the Regent was always amicable and civil, the most charming host.

Susan slowly took a turn about the room, making polite conversation and never forgetting to introduce her friend. Charlotte kept her composure impeccably, curtsying, smiling and engaging in nonsensical chatter. She knew that Mr. Parker was present. She sensed his gaze as soon as she made her entry. Lady Susan gallantly avoided the corner of the room where Mr. Parker was enjoying his drink in the company of Mrs. Campion and Lord Babington.

“Ah, Lord Astley!” Susan exclaimed. Charlotte’s heart dropped in her heels. She did not recognize the man she met in the forest, but it was dark there, and it was difficult to make out his features. His strikingly direct blue eyes inspected her, and an approving smile passed through his lips. He was handsome, no doubt. “Allow me to officially introduce you to my friend, Miss Charlotte Heywood.” Turning towards Charlotte, Susan observed. “Lord Astley is known for his excellent mark. He is most certainly here for the sport, aren’t you, Lord Astley?”

Lord Astley took Charlotte’s gloved hand and plastered an intentionally long kiss on it, as if to provoke her and make her uncomfortable. Charlotte hauled her hand, seemingly unmoved, and curtsied.

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lord Astley. I look forward to seeing you on Opening Day.” Her voice did not falter even for a second. She also suppressed the pain in the ankle, attempting to disguise the injury he had witnessed. Her words resonated like a challenge, and some of those around them observed them with curiosity.

Distracted by the conversation with Lord Astley, Charlotte did not realize the close proximity of Mr. Parker and his party. Lady Susan could not avoid them any longer, so she proceeded in their direction.

“Ah, Mrs. Campion and Mr. Parker, and Lord Babington! It is so good to see you. Are you enjoying the grounds?” Susan gently squeezed Charlotte’s hand to reassure her.

Eyes locked. Shuttered breaths collided. An infinity of shared moments flooded the space between them. Sidney was mute in awe. She looked heavenly, a mirage of what it could have been. Eliza grabbed his arm, as if the claws of a hawk assaulted his senses. He quivered under the intrusion.

Lord Babington, sensing the awkwardness of the situation, broke the silence.

“Lady Susan, Miss Heywood, we are indeed enjoying our stay. I have just arrived myself, but the grounds are beautiful.”

“Will Lady Babington be joining you?” Charlotte inquired.

“Oh, yes, indeed, she will. I am expecting her arrival in a fortnight. Urgent business called her back to Sanditon.”

Charlotte could not disguise her disappointment that Esther will not be joining the party for a couple of weeks. She also wondered what urgent business required Esther’s return to Sanditon. The long pauses in the conversation were unbearable to all. The announcement that the Regent was making his way to greet the guests came as a welcome reprieve.

He walked in under the accompaniment of the musicians who were previously playing some gentle tunes in the background. He wore an intricately crafted military uniform with Chinese elements, which gave his oversized figure a ridiculous look. His cheeks were excessively red, no doubt from all the brandy he had consumed already. Everyone curtsied, as the Regent made his way cheerfully greeting his guests. Hosting large parties, where he could boast about his excellent taste in music, extensive art collections, and military glory, was one of Prince’s favorite pastimes. When he finally made his way to Lady Susan and Charlotte, he stopped.

“Ah, Lady Worcester! It is very good to have you with us.” He retained the necessary regal formality, but it was obvious to everyone in attendance that he was singling out Lady Worcester from the rest of the party.

“Your Royal Highness, allow me to introduce my friend, Miss Charlotte Heywood.” Charlotte blushed at the introduction. She never imagined finding herself in the company of the Prince Regent, but having been introduced to him in front of all his friends, made her somewhat of an instant celebrity. Next thing she knew, he was escorting her and Lady Susan to the opulent Dining Room, where dinner was served.


	4. Propositions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, emotions run high as Sidney tries to navigate his emotions during a dinner party that throws him into close quarters with both Charlotte and Astley aka Lord Rake.
> 
> To make matters worse, Eliza attempts to mark her territory in the worst possible way.
> 
> We hope you enjoy this chapter. Drop a comment, let us know how you feel!

**Chapter 4: Propositions**

The air changed when Charlotte entered the reception room. It pulsed to life, as it had in the woods hours before, fading out idle chatter, until all that existed for him was her.

Sidney felt agitated by her unexpected nearness. It made his chest ache with desire for something he could never have, which of course made the aching worse. Though she was seldom far from his mind, he had not expected Charlotte to be amongst the party at Waycliff, and as such, did not have time to curb his body's possessive response. He drank in her delicate silhouette, wanting to rip the eyes out of every man who undressed her with his lustful gaze. The need to protect her from unwanted advances was dangerously primal. He battled constantly with the need to see her happy, and the irrational instinct to claim the promise of a future with her for himself. It was only when Eliza dug her nails deeper into his forearm that Sidney checked himself, slowing the harsh breaths that burned in his lungs for release. He swallowed hard, reminding himself that anything but indifference toward Charlotte would not bode well. It was an edict, however, that his heart stubbornly refused to obey.

A quick perusal of the room revealed questioning glances following Lady Susan and her obscure friend, of whom little was known. _As_ _yet_. He was certain Charlotte would not remain a mystery for long, and that whatever details of herself she withheld would surely be filled in and falsified by wagging tongues. Already, it was beginning.

" _Who is she?,"_ they murmured, each new inquiry spreading like wildfire across the floor. " _Miss Heywood? Miss Heywood, who? When did she arrive? Is she of consequence? What is her fortune? Nothing, you say? Well, at least she is handsome, in a quaint sort of way..."_

On and on, curious whispers followed in her wake. From where he stood, flanked by Eliza and Babington, Sidney sipped his drink and discreetly angled his body to fully appreciate the view from afar. 

Charlotte wore a violet gown far more elaborate than anything she had ever worn in Sanditon. Its plunging neckline accentuated the gentle swell of her breasts, flaring out at the hips into a full skirt that swished demurely as she walked. Those curves had featured prominently in his dreams of late, usually at the tail end of an argument that dissolved into white hot kisses-- and more. So much more. Her dark tresses had been maneuvered into a complex twist that begged his fingers to release them into the flowing cascade that suited her best.

Quite simply, the sight of her unmanned him.

The longer he observed her, the more aware he became of the tiny nuances that revealed her true emotions. The smile that did not quite reach her eyes. The tension in her shoulders, her guarded answers... never more than a word or two, a sentence at most. This Charlotte was different from the vision he had stumbled upon in the woods, and far removed from the woman he had grown to love in Sanditon. She held herself with grace, but walked with-- what was that? Discomfort? Or was it pain?

Sidney stilled, zoning in on Charlotte's every move. He could not read her face from across the way, but she appeared to be making a distinct effort to minimize a limp in her step. She leaned slightly to her right, obviously trying to alleviate pressure on her left side. Immediately concerned, he thought back quickly, certain she had retreated into the trees with ease. Was it just that her shoes were too small, or had she taken a spill in her haste to avoid him? Most alarming to Sidney was the strong suspicion that no one had attended to her injury because she was determined to doctor it herself. The Charlotte he knew had a stubborn streak, but the relief he felt at seeing a glimmer of her old self was overshadowed by anxiety for her safety. 

His mind spun with questions. _How bad was it? Who would take care of her if--_

Suddenly, a hand shot out of nowhere, gripping his sleeve and pulling him back. It was Babington, a quiet warning glinting in his eyes.

"Are you alright, old friend?," he asked softly enough that Eliza would not hear. Sidney shifted his attention away from Charlotte, becoming aware that he had taken a few unconscious steps forward. He nodded tightly, clearing his throat.

"Quite," he replied hoarsely, flashing his gaze back to Charlotte and then closing his eyes. "Just a bit warm."

Babbers pursed his lips into a hard line, missing nothing. "Be careful," he cautioned, inclining his head toward Eliza. Sidney felt a surge of gratitude toward his friend for his well-placed concern.

"What are you two whispering about?," Eliza inquired shrewdly, stepping between the two men. It was clear from her stormy expression that she was undeniably rattled by Charlotte's presence. 

"Ah, I was just telling Sidney about Esther's unexpected trip to Sanditon," Babbers ventured bravely. "It is my hope that she will be able to join us sooner than expected..."

Thankfully, Eliza took the bait and engaged with his friend in conversation. This gave Sidney an opportunity to return his attention to Charlotte, who had moved much, much closer while Lady Susan introduced her to a vaguely familiar gentleman. The man's perfectly aquiline features curved into a suggestive smile as he bowed low. He then ran a thumb across the back of Charlotte's hand before pressing his lips to the spot in a kiss that bordered on profane. Sidney saw red. He could not fathom how it was possible to be jealous of a man's lips while also wanting to throttle him for having what he could not. When the man finally lifted his face, presumably for air, he glanced over Charlotte's shoulder and collided with Sidney’s enraged smolder. And then he smiled brazenly like the devil he was. 

That smile threw Sidney off-kilter, so much so that it rendered him completely incapable of speech when finally Charlotte stood before him. While she bantered easily with Babbers, all he could do was steal glances like a hapless fool, whilst trying not to wince in pain from Eliza's grip.

Moments later, the Regent swept through the room, and soon after the guests were ushered into the dining room and left to find their places. It was Sidney’s intention to remain within earshot of Charlotte, but since he could not sit with her, he enlisted Babington's help.

"Will you please sit near Miss Heywood this evening?," he asked anxiously. "Next to her, if possible?"

"Yes, of course, but is it wise?" He did not need to elaborate for Sidney to understand his meaning.

"I told you about seeing her earlier, but now her ankle seems to be troubling her. I need to know that she is...well."

"When you say 'ankle' do you mean Astley?," Babbers asked darkly, "because I do not need an incentive to keep that scoundrel away from Miss Heywood."

The two men shared a grim look of mutual understanding. There was only one word that could be used to describe Lord Astley: the man was an unmitigated rake, the incurable sort. Admittedly, Sidney had not made the connection when he'd overheard that troubling snippet of conversation shortly after his arrival. Astley’s reputation preceded him in multiple pleasure dens across London. At Mrs. Harries' establishment, for instance, the women loved him for his coin and feared him for his insatiable prowess. Although Sidney had not personally visited such a place in almost a year, he very much doubted whether Astley’s well known predilection for rough play had altered in that time. It was also rumored that he had sired at least two illegitimate children, neither of whom he acknowledged.

Knowing that Charlotte was the woman Lord Astley had flippantly referred to bedding without consent put Sidney on high alert. Women were a sport to him, and Charlotte fair game - except that she had everything to lose, and after all that had passed in Sanditon he could not simply stand by and let that happen. Not if he could help it.

When Babbers veered right to pursue Charlotte's company, Sidney scanned the room for Eliza. With close to a hundred guests, this was no easy feat. It was noisy, incredibly so, and people swarmed the chairs in packs. From where he stood, he could not see the head of the table, let alone a woman whose scarlet gown blended in with the lushly wallpapered walls. His footsteps slowed, momentarily distracted by the towering floral arrangements, so tall he had to crane his neck to see them in their entirety.

Sidney’s eyes traveled over the gold plates and cutlery which lined an obscene spread of food. Mounds of jellied puddings rose from the table, interspersed with fruit compotes and heaping bowls of salad, potatoes and roast. There was almond nougat, too, and a vanilla blancmange that would normally make his mouth water. Tonight though, it made his stomach churn.

Sighing deeply, Sidney carved a reluctant pathway across the floor in search of his fiancée. He made it half the distance when she approached him in frustration.

"Where have you been?," Eliza hissed angrily, "One of the Spencer girls is holding our seats! Now hurry, I don't trust her one bit."

With that, she turned and he followed her, not looking up until they were both seated. Eliza slipped her hands beneath the table to smooth her skirts, purposefully brushing his thigh on the way back up. Sidney shuddered and recoiled from the blatantly possessive act, inching his leg away from her reach. Beside him, Eliza stiffened but said nothing, not wanting to cause a scene in this company. There was nothing she feared more than being the subject of idle gossip, though she certainly had no issue perpetuating such talk.

In an attempt to shake off her unwelcome touch, Sidney took stock of those seated near him, only to be met with warm, brown eyes and an assessing gaze. It was Charlotte, seated directly across from him between Astley and Babbers. She held his gaze for only a fleeting second before shifting it away, but in that moment everything stopped. Sidney's blood roared in his ears and his fingers trembled, but try as he might, he could not read her face, or detect a trace of shared memory in her blank expression. He willed her to look at him again to no avail; she looked resolutely away, determined to avoid him.

Just then a chair scraped back at the head of the table, squeaking in protest from the enormous weight upon it. The Prince Regent swayed drunkenly to his feet, looking faintly ridiculous with his jacket straining across his ample gut. 

"Lords and Ladies, welcome to Waycliff, the most singularly boring place in existence." His arm failed dramatically, sloshing drink as it went. "I almost didn't make it to my own dinner party. Why, when my man tried to rouse me today, I upped with a start, worried I'd overslept. When he informed me it was but three, I said to him, I said-- "Thank God, I was worried I'd overslept!..." 

Everyone laughed dutifully, and he continued with his absurd welcome address until the soup was served. Relieved that he had resisted the overwhelming urge to roll his eyes, Sidney tried to catch snippets of conversation between Charlotte, Babbers and Astley. He caught a whiff of laughter between mouthfuls, phrases like "wedded bliss" and "like to see her again," indicating that she was more than happy to see his friend again.

"I take it that you know _Charles_?" Astley interjected. Babbers flinched. He greatly disliked the uninvited use of his Christian name. 

Charlotte looked between the two men and shifted ever so slightly toward her questioner. "Yes, indeed. I had the pleasure of meeting Lord Babington and his wife in Sanditon. Although I seem to remember the former Miss Denham staging quite the resistance." She smiled at Babbers warmly. "You see, I was a guest of the Parkers last season. In fact, they are the reason that I met Lady Susan."

Beside him, Eliza bristled at the mention of Sidney’s hometown, no doubt listening intently.

"Then you must know Mr. Sidney Parker, for he is Mr. Parker’s younger brother. Or perhaps not, for he is often in London on business...or so I hear." Across the table Astley twitched his lips mischievously, as if debating some internal joke.

"Yes, I know him," Charlotte replied softly, in that voice he knew so well. The one on the verge of tears. Blushing, she set down her cutlery with a clatter, and gripped the table's edge for support. Sidney could only watch helplessly as she struggled to contain her emotions beneath a mask of indifference. 

"Are you ill, Miss Heywood?," Babington asked, catching Sidney’s eye and reading his concern. "Here, drink some of this." He offered her a wine glass, and she took it, drinking deeply. 

"Is it your ankle that ails you?," Astley whispered loudly, leaning in so close that his lips almost brushed Charlotte's cheek. "You took quite a spill earlier."

Sidney's jaw flexed, his grip tightening around his dinner knife. So she _had_ been injured, and that cunning rake of a man, blast him, knew something about it. He watched Astley caress Charlotte's elbow, ever so slightly, and wanted to throw him from the room. How was it possible, he mused, to hate a person more with each passing second when the only crime they had committed (as yet) was breathing?

"I assure you, I am well," Charlotte murmured, somewhat uncomfortably. "My ankle barely hurts. I'll be right as rain by tomorrow."

"I would not worry too much about Miss Heywood, Lord Astley," Eliza ventured slyly, "I am certain she is accustomed to tumbles and spills. After all, she is a farmer’s daughter."

Sidney’s glare could have cut Eliza in two. Already simmering anger rose hot and fast to the surface in his rush to defend her, but Charlotte proved that she was more than equal to the task on her own.

"You must know a great many farmer's daughters, Mrs. Campion, to have us all figured out. Do not forget that I also read books, which seems an important distinction from the common variety."

"I take it you all know each other, then? How splendid!" Beside her, Astley looked between them and snorted gleefully. For once, Sidney wished he could mirror the man's reaction. Charlotte was magnificent when challenged.

"I cannot change the circumstances of my birth," she stated, regarding Eliza thoughtfully, "Pray, what would you recommend to improve my standing amongst this crowd? The Beau Monde can be _so_ intimidating for a girl such as myself."

A tense pause hung in the air, accentuated by scraping knives and forks.

"Consider taking lessons from the Huntress, whoever she is, so that you might improve your aim. Survival skills are essential in these parts." Eliza preened, leaning into Sidney, clearly marking her territory. "It is rumored that she could knock even you on your back with her unparalleled skill. What do you say to that, Lord Astley?"

A curious smile played on Astley’s lips. "Hmm, I rather hope she does, but I shall defer to Miss Heywood on the topic. What do you think, should I be scared?"

Charlotte paused between bites of food, chewing slowly, considering her words. "I think," she said carefully, "that you would be wise not to underestimate your competition, woman or not."

 _Bravo, Charlotte._ Sidney had never been prouder.

* * *

The house was mostly quiet when Sidney returned to his bedchamber hours later, utterly exhausted from the night's events. He dismissed his valet, wanting privacy, and the freedom of falling into bed fully clothed if he so wished. Off came his shoes, stockings and braces, until all that was left were his breeches. He flexed his bare shoulders, shaking off the remnants of Eliza's stray touches. She had remained close to him throughout the evening, at least until the men had migrated into the card room for drinks and cigars. Lord Astley, he noted, had also remained by Charlotte's side, making her smile more than once.

Running his fingers anxiously through his hair, Sidney crossed the room to the wash basin and splashed cold water on his face. He reveled in the water's icy blast, feeling renewed, finally able to master his feelings instead of being at their cruel mercy. After drying up, he perched by the window, listening to the wind rattle its ancient panes. The grounds rolled and stretched beneath him, transforming from manicured lawns to wild expanses as far as the eye could see. He pressed his forehead against the glass, gently pounding his fist in frustration as he revisited Babington's prudent advice.

_You must be cautious Sidney. You wear your heart upon your sleeve whenever Miss Heywood is near, and you risk harming both yourself and her. Eliza can sense it. Why do you think she does not leave you? She will not hesitate to drag you to the altar against your will if this continues. And Astley? If he so much as catches a whiff of what you truly feel, he will pounce fast and hard, and we will be able to do nothing about it..._

"Dammit," he muttered. Babbers was right. Sidney could not put Charlotte at risk by selfishly exposing his unchanged affections, especially when he was still very much engaged to Eliza. And what good would it do? For all he knew, she felt nothing for him anymore.

By the time he circled back to the bed and dropped into it, he was spent. Yet, he hovered between wake and sleep, wondering what it would be like to have the privilege of loving Charlotte freely, to ache for her with the promise of release. He closed his eyes and conjured the feel of her beneath him, the memory of his lips on hers, the ghost of her fingers on his skin teaching him to love in the dark. Even after all this time, she still held him in her power, for in Charlotte Heywood he had finally met his match.

As Sidney closed his eyes, several rooms away Eliza Campion sat wreathed in candlelight at her dressing table. Ringlets of golden hair spilled to her waist, framing a face that was still youthful for a woman nearing thirty. She was satisfied in her wealth and confident in her beauty, ruling her affairs with admirable discretion. The only thing she could not control was Sidney Parker's unruly heart, which appeared to no longer beat for her.

This did not sit well with her, and the unexpected appearance of that country chit made it worse. Sidney must believe her to be a fool if he thought she had not noticed him following Miss Heywood with his eyes like a sad little dog. Eliza could not fathom the woman's appeal to a man like Sidney. So forward and obstinate for a nobody of her station, parading around with Lady Susan as if she was worthy of notice.

Admittedly, Eliza had never been in love. Love, she found, was a waste of energy. It made a person weak. She loved shiny new things. She loved knowing she could bring a man to his knees with a single look, but had never invested the emotion into another person. Robert Campion had been a means to an end, offering her more riches than she'd ever dreamed of. Eliza had embraced his lifestyle with open arms, never once feeling guilty about the boy she had left behind. As time passed, however, she discarded lovers with increasing frequency, quickly growing bored of their pretty words and empty kisses. Something was always missing-- or perhaps someone. In all of her dalliances across the span of a decade, no man had once replicated the devotion Sidney had shown her in a single season. She was in love with the memory of that feeling, and now that fate had brought them full circle, she wished to own him. She needed to know that he could be possessed-- by her. 

Looking up, Eliza pulled her robe around the thin silk of her nightgown and regarded her pleasing reflection, lip curling up at the thrill of what she was about to do. 

Moments later, Sidney woke with a start at the polite but insistent knocking at his door. By his estimation, it had to be well past two in the morning. He sat up, slightly disoriented, unable to shake an inexplicable sense of dread over what faced him on the other side of the door. Adrenaline pumped through his veins as he hastily lit a candle and pulled on his shirt, before padding barefoot to pull at the knob. At first, he saw nothing but darkness through the crack, but then a small weight pushed against him, edging him backward into the room.

" _Eliza_?," he stammered, tightening his grip on the door, "What on earth are you doing here? Has something happened?"

"Let me in," she whispered, fluttering her eyelids like a harlot, "I'm lonely tonight."

Sidney breathed in sharply, hoping it would quell his unease. She was propositioning him, and he didn't know how to get rid of her without causing a scene. "Then I suggest you return to your room," he said softly, unwilling to hurt her feelings for sport, "and let your dreams keep you warm. The journey here has exhausted me. I fear I would be poor company."

Eliza attempted to push her way in, but he barred her entrance. She laughed huskily, running her hands from his abdomen up to his chest. "There are many things I can do that do not require your participation. I am no longer an innocent girl...I know how to please a man."

Nauseated, Sidney clasped her wrists firmly and held them aloft. He was lonely, yes, but not for the woman who stood here brazenly offering herself to him. He released her hands, watching as they fell limply to her sides.

"Eliza, I believe you. Now, for God's sake, return to your room and let me rest. _Please_ . I am not in the mood for this tonight." _Or any other night, for that matter._

She eyed him closely, a mixture of surprise and anger painting her features. She had undoubtedly never been on the butt end of a rejection. "We will be married soon…," she persisted, "what difference does it make whether we do this now or later?"

"None, I suppose...," he admitted, glancing down the darkened hall. Eliza's voice had grown shrill, and he did not trust that the house would keep their secrets. "Except, much has passed between us over these ten years. In a perverse way, we have come full circle, but neither one of us are the same. Let it be enough, for now, that we are engaged--"

"You cannot possibly still hate me for breaking it off ten years ago!," she shrieked loudly, cutting him off. She seemed desperate, Sidney realized, to be accepted into his life - and into his bed.

"I do not hate you, Eliza," he sighed, running a rough hand over his tired face, "I never have. But I cannot make myself love you, either."

It was the truth, pure and simple. He could not be the man she needed him to be, for the years had changed him. He was not the boy he once was. The sooner she acknowledged that, the easier it would be, for both of them. Or so he hoped.

Sleep evaded him after Eliza's sullen departure. He did not want to think about the ramifications of rejecting her, or when she would attempt to seduce him again, for it was only a matter of time. With Eliza, you could never tell when she would strike back, but it was always a low blow, where it hurt most. Sidney returned to his perch by the window, gleaning whatever peace he could from the ambling landscape below. His head ached, pulsing at his temples with force. He craved a quick dip in the cold sea to clear his mind, but that was not possible here, at this house boxed in by hills and forests.

Sometime before the sun crested the sky, when the first hint of purple coloured the horizon with its magic, a familiar red coat traipsed across the lawn, cutting through the rolling fog. It was Charlotte, no gun in sight, determined to send Sidney to an early grave with her blatant disregard for her own welfare. He swore, the woman would be the end of him. _Where could she possibly be going_? Damning it all to hell, Sidney snapped to his feet and dressed in record time, bolting out the door and through the halls in pursuit. 

After all, there was something about this hour that stood outside of time and defied logic.


	5. The Plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My, my, two clandestine meetings in one morning. How will Charlotte fare when she comes face to face with a ghost from her past?
> 
> Thanks to everyone who left a comment on the last chapter! We enjoyed reading all of them so much! We're so happy so many of you are enjoying the story so far!

**Chapter 5: The Plan**

Charlotte’s eyes stung harshly from lack of sleep. She tossed and turned all night. She felt trapped within the old stone walls of Waycliff Hall. The dozens of vacant, bleak rooms in the wing where her bedchamber was located made her shiver. The nights were cold in the castle, especially in the early hours of the morning, when the fire Abigail had laid the night before was barely crackling.

Mr. Parker’s arrival stirred emotions she thought she had managed to subdue. Seeing him last night with Mrs. Campion overpowered her determination to remain detached and disinterested. She analyzed every word that was exchanged at dinner and revisited every glance he stole in her direction. Did she imagine the sorrow in his eyes? The despair in his voice? The man she knew had disappeared, replaced by a mere shadow. Charlotte rebelled against those treasonous thoughts. _Mr. Parker is engaged to be married, and that is the end of it,_ she decided. She jumped out of bed, got dressed, and snuck out of her bedchamber. A bit of fresh air would do her good.

Waycliff’s estate of riches exhibited some of the most splendid gardens but, while Charlotte admired the intricacy and grandeur, she much preferred the wilderness between the Regent’s formal gardens and his extensive grounds. This area too was meticulously planned by the Prince based on his peculiar tastes, but there was one corner that Charlotte had discovered a couple of days ago, which she favored for its vistas and seclusion. Large trees, with roots covered in moss, provided shelter to a small bench, while the burble of the nearby waterfall brought a sense of eternal serenity.

She sat down, inhaling the smell of the morning. This is where she belonged. She missed Willingden and the simplicity of life on the farm. She closed her eyes, envisioning the large fields she’d explore with her siblings. She missed them too. She should not have come.

“Miss Heywood?” His voice startled her out of her reverie.

"Mr. Parker!” Her eyes wide with surprise, she swiftly bolted up on her feet, forgetting her injury. She exhaled the pain in a long silent huff.

“I apologize for the intrusion.” He hesitated. Then, seeing that she was in visible pain, quickly approached. “Are you hurt?”

“I am well.” She retreated a few steps. “I think I should go.” 

“No, please don’t leave on my account! I, ah, just wanted to make sure that you are well. Your foot…” He pointed towards her injured ankle. “I noticed it last night.”

“You did?” Her voice softened and the tension in her features slowly dissipated. “I tripped in the forest. It will heal soon, I am certain.”

“Perhaps you should have it checked?," he suggested with concern.

“No, really, there’s no need for that! I just need to give it some rest."

“And yet, Miss Heywood, here you are, walking the grounds… _on foot_.” The slightest sparkle of a smile crossed his eyes. Charlotte disguised a smile herself.

“How did you find me here, Mr. Parker? This is one of the most secluded places I have found on the estate. It seems I might’ve been mistaken.”

“No, no, Miss Heywood, you are not mistaken. I must confess that I followed you here.” He looked down, slightly embarrassed by his own admission. 

“Were you spying on me?” Charlotte could hardly conceal her amusement. 

“I was.” Sidney acknowledged. “I saw you walking this way through my window. And, I had to see you, I had to…” His voice broke down, overpowered by emotion. 

“I needed some air.” Charlotte whispered.

“So did I.” They were not more than a few feet away from each other. She could hear his shattered breathing, feeling increasingly self-conscious under his intent gaze. Sidney took a tentative step towards her, while Charlotte stood paralyzed by an invisible thread of yearning. His eyes caressed her face hungrily, gently following the line of her lips. For a few moments, time was suspended in the space between them. A creaking sound in the adjacent garden broke the transcendent aura that surrounded them, and then she remembered: Mr. Parker was engaged to be married. She slowly paced a few steps away from him. 

“You’re probably right, Mr. Parker. I will take your advice to heart and rest.” She mumbled as she left. Her feet were wobbling under the loud beating of her heart. She hoped he could not see it.

“Miss Heywood, wait!” She slowed down, turning to face him again. “Before you go, may I offer you... a bit of advice on another subject?” She nodded tentatively. “Lord Astley is a scoundrel. Be on your guard.”

“I am capable of taking care of myself, Mr. Parker.” She retorted drily.

“I didn’t mean to offend you, Miss Heywood, I just…” She did not allow him to continue, did not allow herself to read the anguish which shadowed his face. 

“I thank you for your troubles, Mr. Parker. Good day.”

Instead of taking the walkway towards the house, Charlotte swerved in the direction of the stables. She picked a stone from the gravel path and tossed it in the pond nearby. Pensive, she watched it create ripples in the water. 

“Penny for your thoughts, Miss Heywood?” She gasped, remembering her first conversation with Mr. Parker on the balcony in one of the assembly rooms in Sanditon. But it was not Mr. Parker who was now standing next to her.

“I was just admiring the all-consuming splendor, Lord Astley.”

He smiled, observing her closely. Her agitation was noticeable, but he could not discern the cause for it.

“You seem to favor the outdoors, Miss Heywood. Are the Regent’s guests such dull company that you prefer the society of trees?," he asked in earnest. Charlotte Heywood was a most bewitching creature, and against his better judgement, he was exceedingly intrigued. 

“I am a farmer’s daughter, Lord Astley.” Her reply was cold and matter-of-fact. “The society of trees, as you call it, is always a welcome diversion.”

“You made quite an impression last night.” A trace of lust ran through his face. “A farmer’s daughter who reads books.” 

She cringed. It seemed no detail was small enough to escape Lord Astley’s attention. But also, Mr. Parker’s words were still ringing in her ears - _a scoundrel.._ . _be on your guard_. Lord Astley moved closer to her, uncomfortably close. He reeked of brandy and cigars. Charlotte gagged. She impulsively stepped away.

“Don’t be afraid of me, Miss Heywood. If you allow yourself to believe all the Banbury stories they tell about me, you would think me a brute.” He quickly cut the distance between them, and running sultry fingers down her back, whispered: “I am most tender, indeed.”

Charlotte knocked his arm away from her skin, shuttering from his unsolicited touch. Lord Astley stiffened up from her rejection, like a dagger stabbed his heart. He was not accustomed to refusals. His charms conquered all, ending with women often pleading for his attentions.

“Don’t you dare touch me again, Lord Astley!," she shouted, her voice as cold as ice. “Perhaps you have forgotten my skill with the rifle?” This sounded like a challenge. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I shall be returning indoors.”

* * *

Back in her room, Charlotte collapsed on the bed, on the verge of tears. Here she was, a guest of the Prince Regent, but she missed Willingden more than she anticipated. And she felt lonely. So lonely.

She had been putting on a strong front ever since she returned home from Sanditon, and she was tired of the charade. The cheerful exuberance of her siblings, the thoughtful conversations with her father, and the friendship of her dear sister, Alison, had served as a soothing balm for her wounded heart.

She couldn’t share her heartache with anyone, not because they would judge her, but because she was afraid to disappoint them. As the eldest daughter, Charlotte was the sensible, level headed big sister. All her siblings looked up to her, and she refused to allow herself to let them down. 

Her mother, as observant and perceptive as she was, had inquired about her sadness, but Charlotte had managed to steer the conversation every time. And soon, she found herself absorbed in the daily activities around the farm, striving to keep her mind occupied. It was going well, she thought, until a letter from Mary arrived. Her friend wrote about the children, the dear little rascals Charlotte had grown to love so much; the progress of the work in Sanditon, with Mr. Stringer leading the men in the rebuilding; Lady Denham’s daily visits to inspect the progress and challenge Tom on every decision; and, Arthur and Diana’s newfound enthusiasm for glandular stimulation.

Any mention of Mr. Parker and his upcoming nuptials was absent from the letter, so Charlotte deduced that Mr. Parker must be married. She felt the aching demise of her disappointed hopes all over again. She cried in hiding and smiled in public, but she sensed she could never be the innocent girl who embarked on her first adventure in Tom and Mary’s carriage. That girl was gone.

When she arrived at Waycliff, she put on a brave face. She had learned that Mr. Parker was not yet married, but that only reignited her hopes. She was angry with herself for being incapable of letting those feelings go. They kept her captive. She desperately needed a distraction.

Footsteps outside her door and the shuffling of skirts alerted her to the arrival of her friend. Charlotte wiped her tears away and peered in her reflection in the mirror. She looked tired. As soon as Lady Susan came in, she gave Charlotte a sympathetic look. 

“Have you been crying, my dear girl?” She sat next to Charlotte. “Now, tears won’t solve anything. We need a plan.”

“But what can be done? I am certain that nothing can be done!” Charlotte exclaimed, disheartened.

“My dear! With all of the beau monde cooped up in this house, the possibilities are endless. And…” Susan smiled knowingly. “what better opportunity to discover if a certain lady has a chink in her armor?”

Charlotte sighed, doubtful. She couldn’t even imagine how one would go about with such an inquiry. She felt utterly inadequate. 

“I observed your Mr. Parker closely last night, Charlotte. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you.”

“He’s not _my_ Mr. Parker!” Charlotte blushed.

“Is he not?” Susan left that question hanging in the air for a few moments, while Charlotte reflected on the events of last night. Mr. Parker did appear dispirited, his usual confidence cast down. He struck her as being defeated, resigned to his fate. But what if she had imagined it all?

“What if he is happy with Mrs. Campion? I understood from Mary that he grieved for her for ten years…”

“My dear girl, don’t doubt yourself! Mr. Parker must’ve been a boy when she passed him over for a richer man. And Eliza would’ve been a prettyish debutante with no experience for the life she was about to embark. Mr. Campion was a wealthy man, but apparently, he was also ruthless. After the lives they have lived apart, I doubt they have much in common.”

Lady Susan’s words were reassuring indeed. There was a lot of truth in them. Charlotte was resolved to attempt to save Mr. Parker from an unhappy marriage. Seeing her young friend’s determination, Susan charted out the plan and Charlotte’s role in it. It was ambitious. There was a realistic possibility that something of someone will thwart the progress at any point, but after careful consideration, they both agreed that this was the best path forward.

“Now, you have to tread carefully with Astley, my dear girl. He is a dangerous man. Don’t ever allow yourself to be alone in his presence, and, never, ever reveal your feelings for Mr. Parker in front of him.” Susan warned. Charlotte shivered under this sinister forewarning. Her reckless escapades in the forest had to end here.

“What about Sanditon?” Charlotte asked. “Even if Mr. Parker is released from his engagement, Mr. Tom Parker and his family will still be destined for ruin.” 

“Ah! I almost forgot! We will be taking tea with the Regent this afternoon. He is eager to hear more about Sanditon,” Susan said mysteriously as she walked out, leaving Charlotte speechless. Was she concocting a secondary plan to save the town?


	6. More Than A Rake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sidney and Lord Astley conduct verbal warfare, the Prince rambles drunkenly and... it just might happen that there's more to a certain rake than meets the eye.
> 
> But is he redeemable?
> 
> We hope you enjoy this chapter. Drop a comment, let us know what you think!!!

**Chapter 6: More than a Rake**

With eyes narrowed to slits, Lord Astley watched Miss Heywood make a swift retreat. Her coat flapped in the morning breeze, hinting at the soft swell of breasts and hips that promised to fill his knowing hands. He'd wanted to kiss her just then, hidden in the shadows where no one could see. Her lips had been red and pouty, stained with the challenge of innocence. Indeed, he'd been sorely tempted to lift her skirts and take her on the spot, making her moan as he whispered dirty things in her ear. Things that would shock her. In fact, he _wanted_ to shock her, to be the one she chose to pleasure herself with, but a woman like Miss Heywood needed to be persuaded - wooed - and certainly deserved more than inept fumblings in the dark. That put him in an uncomfortable position, for he was not accustomed to asking for anything when he could simply take what he wished.

The thought lingered and stretched, causing him to breathe out shakily in an effort to cool his lust. He let out a soft curse and looked around before adjusting himself discreetly. The woman had no idea how alluring she was to a man like himself. Hell, to men in general, if the previous night's gathering of wandering eyes was any indication. It was the way she held herself apart, that maddening touch of mystery that drove him to distraction. He barely knew Miss Heywood, but she stirred something unnameable inside him with her unbridled ferocity. She guarded her virtue with the tenacity of a woman who knew she had nothing else to offer, and damn it if he didn't grudgingly respect her for it.

And then the memory of her scorching rebuff came rushing back and slapped him hard, heating Astley’s face with latent fury. He was suddenly glad of the darkened stable, for it hid his shame. He felt thoroughly overwhelmed, confused by his burning anger, and inexplicably, the affront that made him burn for more-- _of her_ , though she'd made her feelings clear. It made no sense. _Who did she think she was, to reject him, when she should be thanking him for taking an interest? For lowering himself to her station?_ And to smack his hand away as if she found him repulsive, when the woman he'd left naked in his bed this morning had begged for his touch last night. Yes, perhaps he had been too forward in his advances, too quick to mark her an easy target, but it was hard for a man like himself not to be offended by her actions. Clearly, he had miscalculated, and he could only hope that Miss Heywood would not breathe a word of their... _misunderstanding.._.to Lady Susan. If he didn't play his cards right, the Regent’s favourite held the power to make life downright miserable for him.

As Lord Astley stood there, a lone figure bathed in gloom, the recollection of something unwelcome snaked itself into his mind and planted itself there. It was the look on Miss Heywood's face when he'd touched her, the naked fear glinting brightly from her wide brown eyes. She was afraid of him, he realized with a sickening thud of dread. _Afraid of him_. Not of the challenge he presented with a gun, as her equal, but of the danger he posed to her reputation should he act on his wayward desires. He was even more surprised to learn that, despite his anger, he had no wish to take her against her will, or be a source of undue distress. 

Astley’s gaze sliced back up in search of her, only to find that she had all but disappeared into the sprawling house. He felt suddenly restless under the weight of foreign emotions, unsure of how he should act. He was no stranger to his well-honed notoriety as a rake. Like all legends, there was truth behind it, though perhaps not as much as people gave him credit for. Still, he had done nothing to tidy his image over the years. In his younger days, it kept well meaning mothers at bay, saving him from the perils of an unwanted marriage, and now that he had assumed his title, found himself well suited to bachelorhood. Life was simpler when, apart from his call of duty, a man need only slake the needs of his body. He liked the way the walls echoed in his big, empty house when he came home alone. He liked having no one to answer to, save himself. And damn it, he liked being sovereign of his own emotions.

Or so he thought.

Errantly, he wondered what kind of man would capture Miss Heywood's attention. For whom would she give herself freely? _Not you,_ his mind whispered savagely, raising his ire once more. And then, he taunted himself further with the memory of a particular gentleman's lingering gaze at dinner the previous night, and of how Miss Heywood had responded to it when she thought no one was looking. At the time, he'd thought nothing of it, but now, as his heart boomed in his chest, he felt as though there were unknown variables working against him. Astley cricked his neck to the side and then swiped viciously at the dirt floor with his walking stick. The resulting cloud of dust swirled around him and rose fast, leaving him sputtering for air like a goddamn invalid. When it cleared, his riding outfit was thoroughly smattered with grime. _What a mess. Just perfect_. He was busy swiping at himself when the soft whinny of a horse signaled that he was no longer alone.

"Lord Astley," came a vaguely familiar voice, "I did not expect you to be about so early." 

The voice emanated from Sidney Parker, who coolly assessed him from a spot ten feet away. There was nothing outwardly hostile in the man's demeanor, but there was nothing particularly endearing about it, either. He frowned in apparent frustration as his gaze drifted to where Miss Heywood had been mere moments before. _Interesting_ , Astley noted, before wrestling his own demons back into place and volunteering a response.

"Yes," he replied, offering a sly smile, "I had the urge to take a ride this morning. My plans, however, had a mind of their own."

"Indeed. I rather had the same idea, but well...it seems I am no better off than you." Sidney sauntered over to nuzzle a horse with hair so brown it was almost black. He reached down into a nearby slop bucket and dangled a carrot in front of the creature like a prize. "Are you happy to see me, Nightshade? Ready to stretch your legs?," he asked softly, waiting for the horse to neigh contentedly before slowly tilting his head to regard Astley once again. This time, there was no masking the menacing flash of understanding as he caught the thinly veiled innuendo.

"I was pleasantly interrupted just now," Astley said with a touch of satisfaction. He leaned against an empty stall and pulled a smoke from a thin case in his jacket pocket, lighting it in one of the stables hanging lanterns. "Miss Heywood was just here. Stumbled upon me quite unawares. I must say, it was... enlightening."

"Was it?," Sidney asked nonchalantly, but his jaws clenched, and he tugged slightly harder on the saddle he was attempting to wrangle into place. 

"Hmm. I've never met a woman more adept at telling me exactly what she wants. I find it oddly captivating. There is more to her than meets the eye, certainly more than I initially gave her credit for." Astley paused, letting his words sink in. Smiling inwardly, he examined his opponent for further signs of discomfort. He wanted to know exactly how things stood between Mr. Parker and Miss Heywood. "Tell me," he continued lazily, "was she this fierce when you knew her in-- what was the place called again?"

"Sanditon." Frustration edged Sidney’s voice. He blinked several times, something akin to sadness passing over his handsome features. "It was Sanditon. And as to Miss Heywood, I am no expert. I could not possibly comment on her nature, or her habits, or the workings of her mind. She was my brother's guest last season, and it is my understanding that his family was very fond of her. As for me, I hardly knew her."

 _He's lying_ , Astley thought, though he could not prove it. He took a slow drag, puffing out wispy tendrils of smoke, while Sidney busied his fingers with the saddle straps, stubbornly avoiding eye contact. That was when Lord Astley knew with resounding clarity that he had touched a raw nerve.

"Come now, Mr Parker, we are both men. You can be frank with me. Last night, you looked at Miss Heywood as if she was the first drink of water you'd seen in a long while. Do not deny it. There must be more to it than you let on..."

Sidney stiffened and whipped around to glare angrily at him. "I am engaged," he hissed.

"That means nothing," Astley replied honestly.

"It means something to me."

"Marriage is a lucrative business, Parker. Money. Politics. Family. What you want rarely plays into it. And love? Love is a myth. Why do you think I have avoided the noose for so long?"

"I have a strong hunch that it has to do with your two-woman-a-night policy," Sidney shot back. "Or has that changed in the last year? Increased, perhaps?"

"You forget yourself," Astley responded quietly, anger fizzling in his core. "I am no more a monster than the next man. Despite what you might think, I have never taken what has not been freely given, and I do not appreciate my nocturnal habits flung in my face by a man who does not know me well enough to pass judgment!"

Silence fell between the two men, giving birth to an electric tension. It sparked and cracked in the air, cutting through the smoky haze and mingling their harsh breaths, making the horses skittish. 

"I don't know what game you're playing at, Lord Astley, but I apologize if I caused offense." Sidney focused on calming his horse, soothing the beast into submission by stroking its mane. Then he shrugged helplessly, and in his eyes, Astley detected the traces of defeat. "I overstepped. It's just--- I do not wish to see Miss Heywood put in harm's way. She deserves to be more than a passing whim."

Astley agreed with this, but he was still too heated to accept the man's apology. "I believe Miss Heywood is more than capable of deciding for herself, don't you? She does not appear to be the type to be easily misled," he said, reliving the sting of her earlier rejection.

"Then let us hope for her sake, and yours, that you are right."

"And let us hope, for your sake," Astley retorted, "that the illustrious Mrs. Campion does not hear of you advocating for Miss Heywood. In my experience, women like her despise being second in a man's affections, particularly when that man is to be her husband."

He let his words simmer, but they elicited no response from Sidney. It appeared he was not the least bit curious about his fiancé's previous romantic entanglements. Either that, or he was already well-acquainted with Eliza's proclivities. After all, it was not unusual in matches of convenience for spouses to live separate lives in private. Sidney used the lull in conversation to guide Nightshade out of his stall, clearly intending to take his leave.

Just as he was about to mount his horse, Astley dropped the butt of his smoke to the ground. Instead of stomping on its remains, he watched, mesmerized, as it glowed brighter and ignited a small pile of hay. It sizzled hungrily and erupted into fire and smoke.

"I'd put that out if I were you," Sidney urged hastily.

"Why? It's not like the Regent couldn't build a new stable. He _so_ loves building new things."

"Perhaps you're right," Sidney replied, stepping forward to put out the small flame with the toe of his boot, "but one should not ruin things that aren't theirs to ruin. It never bodes well." With that final warning, he turned and flung himself onto his horse, and in one fluid movement, was gone.

In the aftermath of Mr. Parker’s departure, Lord Astley gave up on the idea of a morning ride, and instead chose to amble around the grounds until an excess of fresh air assaulted his senses. It reminded him of how much he hated the outdoors unless there was a gun in his hand and a target to shoot at. In truth, he needed time to think, to process the complexities of his feelings toward Miss Heywood. She challenged his ideals of what a woman ought to be, and he found something desirable in the pursuit of something unattainable. And then there was Mr. Parker, whose every breath indicated that he cared deeply for Miss Heywood, which begged the question, _what happened between them in Sanditon?_ If his suspicions were correct, something must have gone horribly awry, something that launched them onto separate paths whilst their affections were still entwined.

These thoughts churned like a whirlwind through his mind as he walked back to Waycliff. It was still fairly early, and Astley intended to return to his room to get some rest, or at the very least, catch up on his correspondence. However, he was again waylaid the moment he set foot inside.

"Good God, man, get in here!," a man called urgently from down the hall. Astley heaved a sigh, and quickened his pace to fulfil the request. 

"Ah, Lord Fairfax, what is it? " The elderly man before him was a relic from the past, one of his father's old Tory friends. He caught himself smiling at the memory of nicknaming Fairfax " _Sixpence_ " as a child, in honour of the man's shiny bald head. "Quickly, I have matters to attend," he pushed, brushing the remembrance away.

"Best forget whatever you had planned, old boy, the Regent has been asking for you all morning."

Astley paused mid-step. "The Prince is awake?," he asked in wonder. The Prince was never awake this early.

"He never went to sleep," Fairfax sputtered. "Drank and raved all night, from what I hear. Between you and me, I'm glad I missed the singing. He's no nightingale, if you catch my meaning."

The two men shared a smile as they entered a drawing room that stank of liquor and stale men. Astley let his gaze traverse the room, taking in empty cups and discarded jackets, scattered cards and drunken Lords, before letting his eyes rest upon the most wasted man in the room. The Prince Regent himself, ample stomach straining against the velvet buttons of his vest. Astley was no stranger to the seduction of lesser vices, but it never failed to amuse him that this drunken lot held real power in England, from seats in Parliament to titles they neither worked for, nor deserved.

The irony, of course, was that he was also the victim of nepotism, having both inherited his title and parliamentary position from his father, and his father before him, on and on for generations. The difference was that years of watching the Regent flippantly abdicate from political responsibility in favour of maintaining the status quo and upholding stagnant Tory values, had soured him to the cause. It was the failure to act that infuriated him, the continual abuse of power for selfish reasons.

But these were dangerous convictions, and he held them close, trusting only a selected few. He kept his grievances to himself, even though recent turmoil in the House of Lords had almost reached a breaking point. 

Grubby fingers yanked at his waistcoat, pulling him out of his silent meanderings. He glanced down at the Prince, who was attempting to sit upright, but having trouble keeping his head stationary.

"I say--," he hiccuped noisily, "I say, Astley, 'zat you, man?"

"Yes, Your Grace," he replied politely, " I've been told you need me?"

"Know what yer 'roblem is, Astley? You're not nearly drunk 'nuff. You might try crackin' a smile, liven up that roguish face of yours. Hav'ya bin tryin' to translate German into German? Terrible language, that. Took me ten thousand years to learn two words. Drove Caroline mad, it did, so all in all it was worf' the effort. Or lack, thereof." 

"Just brilliant," Astley responded with a stiff smile, taking care to keep exasperation from colouring his voice. 

"Innit, though? And ev'rone thinks I'm dim." The Prince belched loudly and then deflated like a balloon.

Everyone knew there was no love lost between the Prince Regent and his wife, Princess Caroline. They were both notorious for their dalliances, but Astley’s nocturnal forays had taught him that the Princess was far sharper than her husband, with avid political leanings that, if fanned, would revolutionize British politics.

"Was there anything else?," Astley asked, keen to get back to his room. He craved a moment alone. "Fairfax made it seem like the matter was urgent."

The Prince suddenly narrowed his eyes sharply and regarded Astley with mild contempt. "I wished for your comp'ny," he said, only slightly slurring his words. "Or is that not amenable to your schedule?"

Astley bowed low. "I am, as ever, at your disposal."

"Have you anywhere else to be? Is there a woman you need to service?"

"No, Your Grace." He recoiled inwardly. The Prince’s words cheapened the act, reducing it to less than nothing. In any case, the woman he desired did not, at present, return the sentiment or even welcome his touch.

"Good," the Prince said, satisfied. He reclined on the chaise and allowed the alcohol to have its way with him once more. "Then tell 'zis fat fool..." he gestured blindly at an enormous painting of himself on the opposite wall, "that I can build whatever I goddamn please! He's been goading me all night wif 'is stupid face. Ten Taj Mahals, and a pagoda in Bath, and a hundred fat statues of myself, and he can't do nuffink to stop me!..."

The man's mouth continued to work, but clearly his mind had flown the coop. As the Prince rambled senselessly, Lord Astley collapsed into the chair next to him and pretended to listen for a long hour before sleep overtook his highly esteemed, thoroughly drunk companion. 

Only then was he able to make his long-awaited escape. 

Thankfully, he had no more run-ins on the journey back to his room, although he secretly held out hope for another glimpse of Miss Heywood. There would be plenty of time for that, he reminded himself, both indoors and out. If he was lucky, he might even have the chance to shift her opinion of him, though to what end he could not say. He had yet to riddle her out.

When he entered his bedroom, he was surprised to find the curtains still drawn and the bed, from what he could see, still unmade. Had the maid not made her rounds yet? It was nearing midday, and at this rate there would be no point in tidying anything. Crossing the room in four long strides, he forced the curtains apart himself, squinting in the sudden glare of sunlight.

For a moment, he admired the grounds, visually retracing his path from earlier in the day. Then, something shuffled and gasped behind him, in a quiet movement that made his heart ram against his chest. Slowly, he turned toward the bed, and watched in confused horror as a shape moved beneath the sheets and poked its head up for air...

It was the woman from last night, he realized, as the vague recollection of a late night conjugal visit niggled at his subconscious. He couldn't remember her name, only that she had sought his company. Indeed, until right this second, he'd almost forgotten her existence. She sat up, letting the covers fall to her slim waist, beckoning him with her eyes. Tempting, but he wasn't in the mood.

"My Lord," she breathed, shifting her hair to expose a naked breast, "You've returned. I've missed you." 

"And I haven't given you a second thought," he replied ruthlessly, "What are you still doing here?"

Her face fell. "I was-- waiting for you," she stammered, and he almost felt sorry for her, "I thought--"

"You thought what, exactly? That I'd come back for a repeat?" He skewered the woman with a disapproving glare, and her lips quivered in response. "There will be no seconds. We had fun, and now we're through. Now get your things and leave."

With those cutting words hovering in the air, Lord Astley turned from her and strode into the adjoining room before her tears could fall. He had no patience for hysterics, from her, or anyone else. When he heard the sharp click of the door opening and shutting, he felt suddenly lighter and allowed himself to breathe out the tension lodged deep in his bones.

He closed his eyes, and forced everything aside, needing clarity to deal with his next task. When his mind was appropriately calm, he dipped his pen in ink and put it to paper. After all, he had a drunken Prince and a debauched house party to report on.


	7. Opportunities

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're back!
> 
> Sorry for the three week hiatus, real life happened and rudley demanded attention. (Just kidding!) Hopefully we make up for it with this chapter of #RakeFic.
> 
> As always, tell us what you think! With a ball on the horizon, emotions are sure to run high!

**Chapter 7: Opportunities**

Susan was sitting pensively in a quiet corner of the library. She was holding a book, but her eyes were gazing distractedly outside the window. Her young friend Charlotte was nervously pacing the grounds in front of the house. 

Susan smiled to herself, remembering her own tumultuous youth. There was no trace of the naïve girl she once was. Family circumstances and societal norms had forced her into the arms of a frigid husband, who married her for her fortune. He was much older and their marriage was a travesty from the very first day. Susan established her position amongst the most elite society meticulously, gradually, and patiently, using her husband’s connections and his title. Lord Worcester had no interest in married life or in building a family. He was incapable of siring an heir, which made him distant and reserved. Susan resided in London most of the year, while her husband spent his time in the countryside. He fell ill a few years after, eventually departing a world he never truly cherished, and left Susan widowed, rich, but utterly lonely.

For years, Susan struggled one unrequited love after the other, until eventually she gave up on the notion of love entirely. The society of Lords and Barons did not give her any satisfaction, and the nonsensical lives of the ladies in her circle exasperated her. London society revolved around her, but she felt an aching void, frequently seeking solitude with a good book, near an open window. She loved the smell of fresh air on warm summer nights, and took pleasure in inhaling it on chilly winter days. The sensation made her feel at peace somehow.

She met the Regent when she was seeking solitude in his library at Waycliff Hall several years ago. He stumbled upon her when she was browsing through his beautiful collection of contemporary authors. George was fond of reading, often seeking the company of his books during his manic episodes. He happened upon her when she was running her fingers through the pages of a volume from Lord Byron. His melodic voice tickled her ear as he recited:

_ She walks in beauty, like the night _

_ Of cloudless climes and starry skies; _

_ And all that’s best of dark and bright _

_ Meet in her aspect and her eyes; _

_ Thus mellowed to that tender light _

_Which heaven to gaudy day denies_ …

Susan didn’t dare breathe, overtaken by emotion, because no one had recited a love poem to her before, let alone one of Lord Byron’s most lyrical ones. So, before she turned around to face her charming admirer, she closed her eyes and imagined him handsomely distinguished and proud, tall, brawny and passionate. She was hardly able to disguise her disappointment when she found herself in front of the awkwardly bulky Prince. She remembered curtsying nervously, mumbling a clumsy greeting.

“I see you’ve found my hiding place again, my dear Susan.” George interrupted her stupor, slurring his words, the sharp smell of brandy accosting her senses. “Remember that this is where we met?” He ran a hungry hand over her bare shoulder, making her shudder.

“I see that you have been drinking again, George.” Susan stood up quickly, taking a step away from him. “How do you plan to host the ball tonight in this state?” Discontent arose in her voice, as she started pacing impatiently in front of him. “I wanted you to meet Charlotte for tea this afternoon. You promised you will make an effort.”

George huffed, clearly hurt by her scolding, wobbling uncontrollably. He had been drinking all night because he was angry. No one seemed to take him seriously around here, and he missed Brighton. In his drunken mind, the sea resort was his only escape, the place he preferred to call home. But he found Susan’s disapproval even more unbearable, so he made an effort to appear confident.

“I keep my promises.” He pouted, the grimace making him look even more ridiculous and childish. “I just need some rest.” He sauntered away, hoping to avoid Susan’s disapproving glare.

George fell in love with Lady Worcester the foggy afternoon he met her in his library. He had invited the beau monde at Waycliff for an extravagant country affair and she had made the guest list by chance. George knew her husband Lord Worcester, but did not particularly enjoy his company. The Lord was conservative, stern and had very little compassion for the Prince’s shaky nerves. An acquaintance had mentioned that the late Lord Worcester had left a stunning widow. Given his pronounced proclivity for an ardent romance, George had agreed to invite the mysterious Lady Worcester.

Susan was simply unexpected. The depth of her character, the wit, the beauty – he had never met a woman with such presence. They spoke a long while in the library that first time, the Prince reminiscing about his meeting with Lord Byron. Susan listened with interest, respectful, charming, and informed. George felt quite entranced by their conversation. She spoke as his equal, which he was not accustomed to. He pursued her company for a long time, before she opened up to him. But, even then, their friendship did not grow into a romantic relationship until months and months later.

When it came to his physical appearance, George suffered severely in the area of self-esteem. He was well aware that his subjects laughed at him. The exaggerated portrayals of his large figure in artists’ renditions in newspapers added to his overall paranoia and made him miserable. As a young man, he was handsomely angelic, but he indulged himself in everything, and his figure grew large and deformed. He often wondered if Susan was disgusted when he caressed her bare skin.

George rushed into his bedchamber, a shaking wreck, but determined. His valet followed him with a pot of fresh water.

“Did you bring it, man?” The Prince asked impatiently, almost shouting at his valet.

“Yes, Your Highness.” The man curtsied politely and extended his hand. George emptied the content of the tiny bottle and stuffed his nasal passages with the juice of tree ivy. He started coughing harshly, his face exhibiting the signs of obvious displeasure.

“If this does not cure my wretched state, I need you to bring me some of Goddard’s drops! Now, help me wash, man!” The valet assisted George in dismantling the elaborate uniform, the Prince puffing violently from the effort.

“Would you like me to bring some brandy, Your Highness?” The valet asked obligingly.

“No! I need strong black tea immediately.” George splashed cold icy water over his eyes and face. “I keep my promises.” He muttered under his breath.

* * *

The tree ivy worked its magic and the black tea helped George feel much more aware. He chose his favorite full admiral uniform and patiently waited for the valet to dress him. He regretted his selection immediately, as small drops of sweat started trickling down his back and on and around his sideburns, but he did not have time to change. While George made his ministers and his royal guests wait for him for hours, he never made Susan wait. She valued punctuality, and he valued her good opinion.

He admired his silhouette in the mirror, wondering if he had lost some weight. Susan would be pleased. He looked positively regal. He then proceeded to the drawing room, where Susan and her young friend were expecting him. George could not understand why Susan had taken such an interest in Miss Heywood, but this was the first time he had seen Susan smiling and laughing so much in the company of another lady, so he wanted to make Charlotte feel welcome. He heard Susan’s beautiful voice before he made an entrance, excitement stirring in his stomach.

“Ah! Your Royal Highness!” Susan curtsied gracefully, sharing a knowing smile with him. They kept up the appearances in front of everyone. Lady Worcester called him by his first name only when they were alone.

“Lady Worcester. Miss Heywood. Thank you for delighting me with your presence this afternoon.” Miss Heywood appeared visibly uncomfortable, anxiously pacing from one leg to the other. “Please be seated.” George observed his young guest, and wishing her to calm down, inquired: “How are you enjoying your stay at Waycliff, Miss Heywood?”

Charlotte hesitated. She was a ball of nerves today, feeling awkwardly out of place everywhere on the estate. Her morning encounters with Mr. Parker and then Lord Astley strained her. She also felt much more restricted, knowing that she can no longer peruse the grounds on her own.

“The grounds are lovely, Your Highness! Your book collection is excellent too.” She murmured. George smiled, elated that Susan’s friend approved of his estate and his library collection. 

“You’re welcome to any book you wish to read, Miss Heywood. Sus.. Lady Worcester knows that I am an avid reader myself.”

“I’d venture a guess that Charlotte here is missing the sea breezes of Sanditon.” Susan smiled wittingly. “Even the rich grounds of Waycliff cannot compare to the majestic clifftops. Isn’t that right, my dear girl?”

Charlotte realized immediately that this was an invitation, and while she blushed at the thought of the clifftops and the warm fervent lips of a certain gentleman, she took a deep breath, considering her words carefully.

“Yes, m'lady, the beauty of the clifftops and the crashing waves were breathtaking. I fell in love with Sanditon.” Renewed excitement poured out of Charlotte, the memory of her stay with the Parkers making her heart flutter.

“Sanditon?” George moved his confused gaze between Susan and Charlotte. “You have been to Sanditon too, Lady Worcester?”

“Your Highness, I only had the pleasure of visiting for the day at Miss Heywood’s invitation.” Susan knew George well. When threatened or feeling excluded he was inclined to retreat into a capricious and unpleasant mood, which she very much hoped to avoid.

“Nothing compares to Brighton.” George exhaled. “I just don’t feel welcome there anymore…” He whispered under his breath. Realizing that his two guests heard him, he motioned for the servant to bring him a snuff box. Susan observed him closely with reproach. “You know, Miss Heywood, I had great plans for architectural improvements at my Brighton palace, but they tell me there is no more room for enhancements.”

“There is plenty of room for architectural improvements in Sanditon, Your Highness.” Charlotte commiserated. “In fact, my friend had sketched a beautiful pagoda…”

“A pagoda!” The Prince nearly jumped out of his seat, dropping his snuff box and spilling his cup of tea. “A pagoda?” This unexpected interest startled Charlotte.

“Erm, yes. My friend is an aspiring architect, and he sketched an impressively intricate pagoda, but then…”

“Can I see this sketch?” The Prince inquired impatiently. His eyes focused on Charlotte intently, as if she held the key to his revival.

“I am certain that my friend will be more than happy to oblige, Your Highness. I will write to him right away.” Charlotte felt invigorated, wanting to run back to her room to start a letter. The enthusiasm of the Regent was contagious. Susan smiled approvingly. Seeing that her friend was anxious to leave, she nodded with approval.

“I think Charlotte is eager to send word to her friend, Your Highness. We’ll see you at the ball, Charlotte, I hope your leg is much improved.”

“Yes, indeed, m’lady. I can hardly detect any discomfort.” Charlotte curtsied as she stood up.

“Are you fond of dancing, Miss Heywood?” The Prince inquired.

“I am, your Highness!”

“Then I hope you’ll save me a dance, Miss Heywood.”

Charlotte walked back to her room with long strides. She was composing a letter to Esther in her head on the way up. How fortuitous that Esther was in Sanditon! Her friend could serve as a go-between for Charlotte and Mr. Stringer. She spent the rest of the afternoon in her room, writing letters to Alison, Esther and Mr. Stringer.

Abigail knocked on her door when the sun was setting on the horizon. She saw its peaceful magenta tones from her window, wishing to take her rifle and go back to the forest. But alas, it was time for the ball preparations. Charlotte observed her countenance in the mirror, as Abigail was arranging her hairdo.

“You look a bit flushed, Miss. Are you excited?” The kind woman asked warmly.

“Oh, yes, I am! I met the Prince this afternoon. He asked me to save him a dance.” Charlotte chuckled nervously and Abigail laughed wholeheartedly.

“Oh, Miss, how exciting! You get to dance with a Prince tonight.”

* * *

Charlotte’s light blue dress highlighted her beautiful form, the lines of her neck and the tenderness of her shoulders. She was preoccupied with plans of saving Sanditon when she took a wrong turn and ended up in a wing of the castle she did not recognize. She heard the deep raucous voice of Lord Astley and immediately sought cover, swiftly swerving into a dark passage, holding her breath. A strong figure grabbed her and covered her in a tight embrace. Before she could release a scream for help, he whispered.

_“It’s me. Don’t be afraid.”_ She recognized his touch and felt chills down her spine. His closeness shook her confidence, her feet feeling weak. Charlotte released a shattered breath. Sidney pulled her even closer as Astley approached. “Don’t move, Charlotte!," he commanded.

She remained in his arms long after Astley’s footsteps subsided. She was shaking from the experience.

“Mr. Parker, you can release me now. He’s gone," she breathed.

“I yearn for you to call me Sidney, Charlotte," he whispered in her ear, slowly letting go of her. “How badly you must think of me.” In the dark, Charlotte could not distinguish his features, but she felt his longing, the desperation in his voice.

“Mr. Parker.” She paused to collect herself. “I could never think badly of you.” She muttered, blindly seeking the security of a wall or an object.

As they moved towards the dim candlelight, they both realized just how close they were standing next to one another. Sidney ran shaky fingers across her cheek, removing a stray lock of hair. His eyes devoured her, grazing her bare shoulders, caressing her collarbone.

“You look beautiful tonight, Charlotte.” His adoring gaze captured her image, refusing to let go. She felt powerless, mute, nearly hypnotized.

“Mr. Parker, I should go…”

And then she was gone, leaving her scent to linger in the air. Air he could not stop breathing.


End file.
